Perliu waved the database angrily. “This thing,” he said, as if he hated it. “This dead-god-damned thing has got all the answers.” “Well,” I said, still scared and flustered, “that’s a blessing, Rampart. What do we need if it’s not answers?” He gave me a fierce scowl. I was somewhat glad of it. His anger was easier for me to bear than that dreadful sadness. “Why, we need questions,” he said. “I don’t know where to find the questions. My mind won’t go to them, or stay on them for long enough to build a thought. It’s hard even for me to remember who I’m talking to some days. And people will die
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